


Those Who Rule Fodlan

by DawnedOnMe33



Series: Conflict of Kin [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crest Experiment Sylvain Jose Gautier, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Dragons, F/M, Possession, Post-Time Skip, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 11:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30088560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnedOnMe33/pseuds/DawnedOnMe33
Summary: Having both survived the Battle of Garreg Mach, Sylvain and Miklan continue their feud in changed circumstances: as a fugitive and an Imperial general. Still, Sylvain has not given up hope of returning Faerghus to its rightful king no matter what  painful choice— or dark truth about his stolen Crest— he must face.Meanwhile, Claude believes Byleth is alive and makes the decision to travel to Garreg Mach to investigate. What he never expected was to find her in a state of comatose alongside a savage, revenge-craving Dimitri.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Conflict of Kin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213931
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue: Beyond the In-Between

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I’m back!
> 
> If you are here because the description sounded cool, awesome!!! But I do want to let you know that this is a sequel. If you have not, please check out Those with Ruinous Envy. :) Or don’t. If you want to start here, I’d be just as happy. I just love all my readers!
> 
> Anyway, this fic will be much more slowly updating than the previous one because I don’t have the whole plot ironed out yet and I have a full time job now (I did the other fic during quarantine). So please bear with me. 
> 
> Lastly, as with the first fic, this one has parts that don’t align with canon. So if something doesn’t match with canon, it’s probably intentional.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy! More tags will be added as I go!

Dimitri stumbled on his way to the platform. His knee hit the stone walkway beneath him, rattling his teeth. Overhead, the sun peered through slate-colored clouds, but it could do nothing to warm Dimitri; frosty zephyrs blew through the city.

A guard hauled him up and shoved him forward. In any other circumstance, Dimitri could have— and would have— snapped that man’s spine like a tulip stem. With his strength and the power of his crest, he could have rendered all of these sneering troops into mangled messes of bent armor, broken bones, and bloody flesh. But, as things were, Dimitri could barely stay conscious.

He could only see out of one eye and he had yet to get used to the change in depth perception. The pain was dull now, but the injury still made him feel dizzy and ill, dissociative. To make things worse, he’d been hit by a curse that made him feel as though his body were moving through a vat of boiling syrup. 

Finally, he reached the platform and a guard armed with an axe pushed him down onto a wooden ledge so that his head hung off one side. Through his good eye, Dimitri could see a crowd before him. All sorts of people were present— men, women, children. Peasants. Nobles. And, even with his distorted vision, Dimitri could tell that most of them were unhappy to be there. They weren’t throwing things or jeering, as spectators sometimes did during the executions of criminals. The crowd was mostly silent. Only the soldiers, men employed under Lady Cornelia Arnim, mocked.

Dimitri knew how pathetic he must have looked. Blood crusted his ruined eye, cheek, and hair. He felt clammy— sweaty and cold at the same time. His clothes were caked with dirt and sopping wet from the stagnant water in the cell they’d thrown him in. He’d been in his school uniform for almost a month now. It was rotting on him. 

Somewhere to his right came a voice that made his throat tighten.

Cornelia. 

“People of Faerghus! You are here to bear witness to the punishment of a murderer.”

_ Shut up.  _ Dimitri’s brain cooked with anger.

“This boy has been accused and found guilty of killing his own uncle, Reagent Rufus Blaiddyd! The murder was foul and graphic,” Cornelia went on. Her voice relished each word she spoke. She seemed to taste the dictation before spitting it out to the crowd. “The reagent was found with a concave skull and dark bruises on his throat. After a thorough investigation, we have found that no one other than Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd could have been responsible.” 

_ Shut up. _

“We have received a confession. It seems the prince could no longer wait to take Faerghus’s throne, and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He butchered his own family!”

_ Liar! Shut up. _

“But today,” Cornelia chuckled a bit, “we shall set things right. Today, we will end the mad prince and form a bond with the Adresian Empire, reforging what was broken hundreds of years ago by the Church!”  
_SHUT UP, YOU BITCH!_

Dimitri could not get coherent words out but, at last, he managed a scream. The yell hurt his dry throat, making it feel friction-burned. His voice was horrible to his own ears, and he could not help but think that he really did sound like a boar, just as Felix always said. 

_ Edelgard, I’ll kill you for this. I’ll make you eat your own eyes and I’ll bash your head in and carve out your heart. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. You soulless witch. Then I’ll kill everyone you’ve ever loved. I’ll tear Adrestia apart. And then— then… _

The image of Claude appeared in Dimitri’s darkening mind and he tried to make sense of it. Did.. did he hate Claude too? Did he want Leicester as well? He didn’t know, he didn’t know… All he remembered was his last conversation with the Leader of the Golden Deer, after they fled Garreg Mach. 

_ You. Are not worth death to me _ , Claude had said. 

The noise died slowly from Dimitri’s windpipe. Yes, some of this was Claude’s fault. The coward. Dimitri remembered the meals he’d shared with Edelgard and Claude. To him, the food was tasteless. He hadn’t been able to taste food ever since the Tragedy of Duscur; his injuries and the trauma had done something to his senses. But… he had always enjoyed his meals around them. Though they were destined to be rivals from birth, Dimitri had liked Claude and Edelgard. They had perspectives that were so fascinatingly foreign to him. They could crack his guard at times and make him feel…

Hopeful about Fodlan’s future.

Now, thinking about those meals, Dimitri could almost taste vomit.

_ What a fool I was.  _

“This is wrong!” someone from the crowd shouted. “I don’t think he did anything! Please, it just doesn’t feel right! Give him a jury!”

“I agree!” called another. “Our prince is a good person!”

_ A good person… You thought so too, didn’t you Claude? So, why aren’t you here?  _

“Remove those two from the crowd,” ordered Cornelia’s viperous voice. “Anyone who speaks against the verdict is supporting an assassin and potential tyrant.”

Dimitri heard protests, a heavy “ _ wack _ ,” and screams. 

“Get your… minions… away… from  _ my _ people, you witch.” At last, Dimitri managed to speak. He tilted his head towards the direction of Cornelia’s voice and saw her there: blurred black and red.

She came towards him, the feathers on her dress catching the zephyr. Kneeling, she took a chunk of his hair in her fist and pulled his head to one side so she could whisper in his ear. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of all these animals when you’re gone.”

Before Dimitri could respond, she slammed his head onto the ledge. 

A roar sounded through the air. But, this time, it did not come from Dimitri. 

Cornelia gasped and let loose a burst of magic from her fingertips as an object sailed towards her: a steel axe.

_ THUD.  _ A second object, a shield, flew past her defenses and nailed her in the gut. She fell backwards. Guards swarmed onto the stage, but Dimitri heard them fall— crumbling onto the platform one after another. Then, he was grabbed. His skin tensed, but the hands were gentle. Dimitri’s knees left the ground, and he was gathered into someone’s arms. 

“They’ll suffer for this,” said a low voice.

“Dedue?” Dimitri squinted, finally making out his friend’s face. “Dedue…” 

“Rest, Your Highness. I am so sorry that I came this late.”

Dimitri wanted to laugh. Despite his disorientation and pain, his nerves were hissing and his mind was tummbling. How could he hope to rest? 

Dedue jumped from the platform and ran from the gathering.

“After him!” shrieked Cornelia. “I want that Duscur mongrel's head!”

Her words once again sparked hatred in Dimitri, but he was powerless to punish her for them. All he could do was let Dedue take control. Despite how adrenaline-fueled he felt, Dimitri did fade in and out of consciousness many times as Dedue carried him through Fhirdiad. Then, at some point, the feeling against his back changed. He was laying on wood, sensing wheels turning beneath him. The cracking of reins alerted Dimitri to Dedue’s presence. A horse whined and Dimitri slipped into unconsciousness again. 

When Dimitri awoke, the sky was a shade of mulberry. Before him crackled a fire. As he watched the orange glow, he lifted his hand up to his damaged eye socket. His fingertips hit fabric. He traced his hand down his cheek and found that the blood had been washed off. With difficulty, Dimitri sat up. A sharp pain in his chest caused him to groan.

“Your Highness?” Dedue, who had been lying on the opposite side of the fire, sat up straight. “Don’t move.” 

Dedue sat beside Dimitri and uncorked a small, crystal vial. 

“Drink,” he said.

When Dimitri lifted his hand, it shook uncontrollably. Dedue frowned.

“May I?” he asked. After a moment’s thought, Dimitri nodded. Dedue raised the vial and, with steadiness, poured the elixir into Dimitri’s mouth. When the medicine was gone, Dedue placed the empty vial in a pouch at his hip.

“What… happened?” Dimitri asked. The elixir was already softening up his throat. “How did we get away?”

Pointing to a horse and wagon resting right where the light from the fire cut off, Dedue said, “I planned it out. I spent time in Fhirdiad, anonymously sowing doubt about your conviction. When I heard you were to be killed outside the palace, I prepared a way to get you quickly and escape. As I hoped, some of the townspeople helped slow down Cornelia’s men.”

Dimitri lowered his head. “The people who spoke up for me… did she hurt them?”

“The guards took them. But I did not see what happened.”

The fire spat an ember. 

“Damn it,” Dimitri said at last. “I truly am a monster. A curse upon my friends and subjects.”

“That is not true.” Dedue leaned forward and stared at Dimitri’s face. His jaw tightened with a rawer hatred than Dimitri had ever seen from him. He knew that Dedue was examining his injuries and destroyed eye. That hellish look, accentuated by the rusty glow of the campfire, showed Dedue’s feelings as clear as if he had spoken them. Little by little, however, the look melted into concern. 

“Did they do that to you with a black weapon?” asked Dedue, his voice as quiet as the crackling fire. 

Dimitri nodded. “I thank you for bandaging it up.”

“I wish I could do more. When the time comes, please allow me to return to Fhirdiad with you. I want to play a part in destroying Cornelia. When I first got a look at your condition, I thought I was going to lose my mind. I was so angry.” 

“Cornelia is not a person,” said Dimitri. “Cornelia, Edelgard, Miklan… all of them are devils.”

Dedue clenched his teeth and clutched his hands together tightly. 

“What happened when you got to the palace?” he asked. “Wasn’t Claude supposed to go with you to speak to Reagent Rufus?”

Claude’s chilled conifer eyes reappeared in Dimitri’s mind. He tried to remember the actual words of their disagreement, but they wouldn’t come to him.

“He left,” said Dimitri, “so I went alone. When I reached my uncle’s office, he was dead on the carpet. It looked like someone had strangled him then taken a steel club to him. I won’t be able to unsee that. Though he and I fought so much… seeing him like that will always be seared into my head. Cornelia came in when I was still stunned and hexed me.” 

Processing everything for a moment, Dedue fed the fire a stick. “I suppose we’re lucky she wanted to enjoy your pain. That gave me the opportunity to rescue you. But… Claude. I cannot forgive his abandonment.”

“We’ll deal with him eventually,” said Dimitri. “He is a minor issue, all things considered. I want Edelgard destroyed.” 

“That,” said Dedue, “will be difficult. Lady Rhea was captured and the professor fell to her death at the end of the Battle of Garreg Mach. We lost our two greatest allies.”

Dimitri processed the news

_ Professor Byleth… that can’t be… She’s too indestructible. Not even Edelgard could have hurt her… _

Placing his head in his palms, Dimitri blinked away a stinging sensation in his eye. Everything felt so dark to him. Another death weighed like iron on his heart.

“The other Lions are in Gautier,” Dedue said. “I shall bring you to them. Then we can make preparations to destroy Adrestia. Now that you are with me, I have faith.”

Dimitri winced. He slid back down onto his side. 

“I’d like to try and sleep,” he said, keeping his voice even. “We shall set out tomorrow.”

This made Dedue smile. “Yes, please rest.” He reached and almost touched the bandage on Dimitri’s face before lowering his arm. “I will get you some better wrappings and clothes as soon as I can.”

Nodding, Dimitri closed his eye and let the warmth of the fire cut through the bitter air and coax him to sleep. 

The next day, they set out again. The jolts from the wagon bothered Dimitri a bit, but he was beginning to heal. Dedue gave him potions and food every few hours. Now, with his illness, bruises, and pain fading… Dimitri tested out his partial vision. He felt unbalanced, but not totally lost. If he focused, he could hear a small trunk thumping on the bench to his right. The thumps hit a certain frequency and— 

Dimitri shot his hand out and nearly caught the box in one hand. It grazed his fingertips and clattered to the floor. But he had been close. Yes… he could do this given the right attention. Staying so focused all the time would be taxing, but he needed to continue on. 

“I’ll get used to it,” he muttered.

Dedue turned from the horse and glanced back at him. Once again, his face took on rage and then melancholy. Dimitri did not mind that. He would prefer it if his subordinates harbored the same hatred for the Empire he did. Their anger would be useful when it came to plotting revenge. But the sadness… Dimitri did not know how he felt about being pitied. 

“I will aid you in any way I can,” said Dedue. “You are strong. You can make it through this. But it is nice to have a crutch for a while. You taught me that.” 

“Did I?” said Dimitri, staring out at the rolling hills. 

“Yes. When you helped me escape Duscur. I’d always been a strong fighter, even as a child. But I needed you.”

_ I was still weak _ , thought Dimitri, gripping the side of the wagon.  _ I couldn’t save Glenn or Father.  _

He thought of all those fallen souls: innocent Duscur people and valiant Faerghus soldiers. What happened to them was  _ beyond  _ just tragedy. To Dimitri, a “tragedy” was an unfortunate, depressing turn of events. The word barely covered what had happened in Duscur.  _ That  _ was the violent theft of human life. It was a display of festering wickedness. And now… Edelgard, in Dimitri’s view, was as good as saying: “It could not have been helped. It was for a higher good.”

_ But what of those who suffered? What about my family and friends who lost their futures, their everything? Why do they not matter? Why do they not have meaning? Why are future generations all that matter to you?! What about the people of now?! _

Dimitri clutched his head, breath quickening. He felt delirious with resentment. 

“Your Highness.” Dedue watched Dimitri intently. “Please try to breathe. We have a long journey. I do not want you to drive yourself mad before we reach Gautier.” 

Then, Dedue turned his attention back towards the road. Dimitri watched the frosty landscape. The rumble of the wheels lulled him back to sleep…

Together, they traveled that way for around a week— or so Dimitri estimated. His grasp on time was weak. He’d begun to understand how Sylvain had felt during his kidnapping and after his rescue from Shambala. Imprisonment and torture deteriorates the mind. Only now was Dimitri understanding just how well Sylvain had handled it all. His distant behavior and changes in emotion had been nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

Dedue checked on Dimitri often. Their bond fortified even more over the days, something Dimitri hadn’t thought was possible.  _ I would have died if not for you _ , he thought and wanted to say.  _ Stay by my side.  _

But, in one moment, that prayer of Dimitri’s was squashed.

“No,” said Dedue. “They’ve tracked us.”

Dimitri’s head shot up at the news. He saw Dedue standing upright in the wagon, a spyglass in his hand. The Duscur lowered the spyglass, gripping it firmly. 

“How far out?” asked Dimitri. “How many?”

“A few miles. Around ten on horses.”

“Very well. We can take them.” Dimitri reached for a steel lance beneath his seat. But Dedue watched him warily. 

“Sir. Their horses are stronger than ours. It is only a matter of time before they close the gap and reach us. Besides… you are not fully recovered. I do not believe that even both of us together can take ten men especially if they are Agarthan. They’re far too unpredictable.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Dedue blew; his breath was a milky cloud in the air.

“We separate. They will continue to chase the cart. But only I will be on it.”

The statement froze Dimitri. When he had recovered, he shouted,

“No! I forbid it!” 

“Please listen, Your Highness—” 

“Enough!”

“I’m asking you—”  
“Dedue! You will not speak of this again or I’ll punish you! I’M ORDERING YOU!” 

The words came out so venomously that they frightened Dimitri. His fist closed suddenly, bending the lance. Disgusted, he tossed the broken weapon aside. 

For a moment, Dedue said nothing. He only stared at his boots, processing Dimitri’s tone. Dimitri spoke again, quieter: 

“I cannot lose you. I cannot be responsible for your ghost too. You will not die for me as Glenn did. I will not allow you to leave this world with regret.” 

Dedue knelt beside a bundle of weapons on the wagon floor and removed a new lance, passing it to Dimitri. 

“May I say something?”

The low, sad cadence in his voice sent a wave of guilt over Dimitri. Why had he spoken so cruelly to his best friend? What was wrong with him? He’d spent years trying to convince Dedue that they could speak as equals when they were alone. Why had he ruined all his efforts now?

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Dedue grappled for words. “I… believe that you and the other Lions, particularly Felix, have all misunderstood me. It is true that I am loyal to you even to the point of death and that I will abide by anything you order. However… My feelings do extend beyond just you yourself. I have my own dream and you are the way to it. When I say I will risk myself for you, it is because of more than just caring about you. I want a Faerghus where the Duscur will be equal citizens, where we will have our opinions heard. And that is not possible without you. You are the only one who has given any attention to our plight, and that is why you  _ must  _ win this war. Edelgard and Claude have their own dreams and have shown no particular concern for the Duscur’s situation. They do not know it as you do. So, please, do not view me as simply throwing my life away for yours. I am sacrificing for the only goal I still have left.” Dedue raised his gaze at last. “I do not ask for much from you. But do not force me to decide between obeying you and serving my own ambition.”

Dimitri blink, shocked at Dedue’s articulation. 

“I… that is…” He squeezed his eye shut and painfully forced out his next words. “Very well. For you, I am willing to take on a new ghost. As long as you vow to fight as hard as you can to live.” 

At this, Dedue smiled. 

“I have a plan. I will lure them to Ailell and attempt to use the terrain to my advantage.”

“Ailell!?” Dimitri tried not to break his lance again. He’d never personally visited the scorching valley before but he’d heard the tales of how treacherous it was— how lifeless and flaming.

“I am aware of the dangers. But it is the only solid plan I have.”

“Do what you must… so long as you keep your vow.”

Dedue smile faded, but the light in his blue eyes was still there. Dimitri tried to take in this last vision of him to stow away in his awry mind until they could meet again— those eyes were blue. His skin tone was canyon brown. His hair was white like winter. _ Remember. _

“Go. I will survive this. I believe that your goddess and the Duscur pantheon all wish for my victory.” Dedue bowed deeply.

Feeling sick all over again, Dimitri hopped from the cart. 

And ran without looking back.

The next Dimitri ever heard of Dedue was a month later in a tavern— around Galatea, or what was left of it. 

By then, he’d traded his fraying uniform for a stolen cloak and trousers. He kept his face half hidden with bandages; his flax hair was covered with a hood. When he entered the bar, nobody paid him any mind. 

Three Empire soldiers sat at the counter, drinking and laughing with the barmaid. She was a pretty girl, about sixteen with cherrywood hair and premature crows feet. Dimitri watched the Empire men with hostility. 

“Ya hear what happened in Ailell a few weeks ago?” asked one with a scar on his chin.

“Can’t say I did,” replied the barmaid, taking their mugs and filling them back up at her ale barrel. “Someone die?” 

“Probably. The prince’s vassal. The Duscur one.”

The barmaid stopped pouring and leaned across the counter. 

“Now, that’s interesting. Did they find the prince too?”

“Nah. No sign of him. A buddy told me there was a brawl and the vassal was forced through a geyser basin. They didn’t dare follow, but they circumvented and waited. Nearly two days. He never came out.”  
Dimitri slid against the wall. _No… that cannot be…_

“Ha. Probably burned alive.” The barmaid’s crows feet deepened as she grinned. “Fitting. You know the story, right? That the goddess created Ailell in her rage? It’s only right that a Duscur would be consumed by it. They are a terrible race. Maybe the prince deserved this. He let a king-slaying Duscur have a place of honor like that… it was embarrassing.” 

Her words made Dimitri breathe harder. 

“Eh? So you really don’t care?” asked another soldier. “Ain’t you of Kingdom blood?”

The woman shrugged. “Blood. Water. What’s the difference, really? As long as I can make a living, I don’t care whose colors I’m under.” She passed a glass mug to one of the soldiers and he gulped, laughing.

“Probably for the best. Faerghus isn’t winning this war. Gautier was taken days ago and your so-called Lions vanished. Ridiculous. This isn’t the conflict of the Eagle and Lion. It’s predator and stubborn, stubborn prey.” 

Static coated Dimitri’s mind. 

_ Gautier? Fallen? Then where… do I go? Where are they… Ingrid. Sylvain. Felix. Mercedes. Annette. Ashe. _

This revelation put him in a haze. Had he truly lost every friend he had? So suddenly? No. They had to be alive. He couldn’t make amends with so many spirits. He simply couldn’t. 

“Believe us, girl,” said a soldier with the scar on his chin, “we’ll clean things up around here once Her Majesty gives us the word. No more House Blaiddyd. I swear this territory tanked with Lambert and his ignorance.” 

Now, Dimitri’s rage physically moved him. His body propelled him forward across the tavern floor. He held his lance firm.

_ Shink. _

The lance tip burst through flesh. The soldier gurgled, shocked at the strange, shiny and blood-slicked object poking through his heart. Then he toppled, red dribbling from his lips.

The barmaid shrieked and flattened herself against the wall behind her.

Alert, the two remaining soldiers whirled around, swords coming unsheathed. 

“Vermin,” Dimitri growled. “Empire dogs! Monsters, all of you! Retract what you said about King Lambert or I shall tear out your tongue BEFORE I kill you!”

“You murdered him,” one of the soldiers all but breathed, glancing at his fallen comrade. “Who the hell do you think you are!?”

_ Who?  _ Dimitri’s eyes narrowed.  _ This land’s ruler. The rightful king. Or— no. None of that. I have no time for that. I am… _

_ A vengeful spirit.  _

Swiftly, one of the men struck. Dimitri parried the blow with his lance and kicked. The soldier flew back and hit his spine on the counter with a revolting  _ CRACK _ . He fell, eyes wide and horrified. He descended into shock until Dimitri fell forward with his lance, piercing through the man’s chest and broken back. Again, the barmaid wailed. 

The final Imperial soldier’s weapon shook. 

“You want me to take it back?” He seemed to nearly give in. His lips trembled before his eyes steeled. “You’ll have to rip those words out of me, lout! Look around! We’re doing more for this Kingdom than Lambert or Dimitri could have even dreamed of!”

“CRETIN!”

The static fully consumed Dimitri. His anger felt thick, physical. He had so many insults, demands, and shouts in his heart that they all banged around and could not get out. Who were these Empire soldiers who thought they could occupy Faerghus, dirty his father’s name, and speak as though they knew best— they who knew nothing?!

Almost of its own accord, Dimitri’s crest lit. His lance plunged. The final soldier went stiff as his blood glowed under the burn of the Blaiddyd crest. Unceremoniously, Dimitri tugged his weapon free and turned towards the barmaid. 

She shuttered. During the conflict, several mugs had fallen off the counter and shattered around her feet; her ankles had tiny lacerations. 

Dimitri hopped over the counter and approached her. He had not forgotten her part in all of this, her vicious words towards the Duscur and Dedue, nor her nonchalant attitude toward the occupation of her country.

“Your Crest,” she squeaked. “You can’t be…” 

Despite himself, Dimitri couldn’t help but smirk.

“Ah yes. It is so simple to speak poison of someone when he is not present. Why don’t you repeat what you think of me, and my vassal?”

Her eyes, a pale violet hue that Dimitri despised, watered.

“Sir… I apologize.” The tears came, running down her cheeks and meeting beneath her chin.

_ What am I doing?  _ For a moment, Dimitri looked outside himself. He saw past his fury. Knights of Faerghus did not hurt non-combatants. That was a solemn oath within Faerghus’s code of chivalry among its knights. No harming civilians—  _ especially _ women and children. And, despite his hatred of the Empress, Dimitri had not yet ever killed a woman. The idea of it gave him pause. This was a young, untrained girl who had just spoken out. She was no sorcerer or soldier or general. Killing her would be far too easy.  _ Shamefully _ easy. 

Finally, he turned. 

“Keep your life.” 

He began to walk back towards the counter, smelling the iron in the air. A drop of blood dripped off one of the slain soldiers and hit a floorboard. On Dimitri’s blindside, he heard a rustle and a clink. Pressing his hand onto the counter, he focused. 

Then whirled. 

The girl was behind him, a large shard of glass swinging in her hand. Dimitri struck with the shaft of his lance, hitting her in the ribs and feeling the bone fracture. With a breathless cry, she crumbled, landing on her knees on the glass. 

“Ungrateful,” hissed the prince, letting his lance fall. He reached out and grabbed her by the throat. Now, his knightly code could not save her. His boarish side had fully emerged and was charging and could not be stopped until it tasted flesh. 

The girl gagged and tried to plead, but Dimitri only heard and saw betrayal. He squeezed and she cried. Nauseated, he lifted her and shoved her skull into the brick wall. Eyes rolling back, she twitched one last time then fell limply from his hands. Her skirts fluttered around her legs and rested on glass and spilled ale, soaking. 

Scooping up his lance and going back over the counter, Dimitri began to lose his animalistic focus. He had killed four people— without stopping to reason or extend a hand. How unlike him. How gross. But, though he threw those insults at himself in his own mind, he did not regret what he’d done. Instead, a sense of accomplishment filled him. 

_ There are even more monsters out there _ , he thought.  _ And only another monster can put them down.  _

And that was truly how he felt— like a monster who was suddenly alone in the world. All he wanted now was to clean Faerghus of its demons. Maybe that would satisfy his ghosts. That would put his father, Glenn, the professor, and now Dedue at peace. But where would he start? Where should he go?

_ Garreg Mach _ , said a voice in his head.  _ That is where you shall go _ . 

  
  



	2. Beyond Fugitives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who keeps sticking with me through this series! It means the world to me! Whenever I see someone recommend it to someone or comment, etc., I just feel so fuzzy. I'm not great at beginnings but thanks for reading until we can get into the full swing of things!

_ Five years. It’s been like this for five years.  _

Sylvain Gautier gazed up at the sooty sky that hung above Faerghus. He stretched his fingers and felt the hunk of bread in his pocket; the food made him feel as lucky as it did guilty. In Fhirdiad, nourishment was scarce. Sylvain had already seen more than one person laying on the sidewalks, as if in nightmarish sleep. But he knew the truth. Too many here were starving to death. 

Despite their best efforts, House Gautier and House Fraldarius hadn’t been able to hold onto their territory. Everywhere had been overtaken by a storm of red. The wave had claimed Faerghus and turned it into this miserable dukedom, a place where little hope remained. The people were overtaxed by their new occupants and so much of what they had remaining had been taken to help the Empire army push against the Alliance. Now Faerghus was dust. Barren. And solemn as a graveyard. 

The only thing the people still seemed to believe in…

_ Is us.  _ Sylvain swallowed. He knew that the common folk continued to have faith in the Blue Lions. He and his friends had become legends, myths, a tale of hope. Sparks in shadow. The people believed the Lions were still in Faerghus, waiting, plotting. And… most of all… they held on tightly to the existence of a miracle— that Prince Dimitri was alive.

Sylvain wanted to believe that too, but he wasn’t sure if he should allow himself that happy thought. He didn’t want to be crushed by a foul truth later on. Still, everytime he heard the rumors of a dark figure in the mountains or a form in the snowy forests, his heart beat with excitement. 

_ I’ve got to get back _ , Sylvain thought. He hoped the others had scrounged up more food than he had. Ashe was the most skilled among them at this task. No matter how bleak things looked, he always managed to return with at least a basket of eggs. On his best days, he even arrived with a few small ducks. Then he would sit at the hearth, quietly, and grill them for the group. Sylvain’s heart went out to Ashe. Gaspard had been taken so long ago and, like many other cities now, it was swarming with Imperial soldiers on the lookout for any Lion seeking to connect with family. Ashe couldn’t contact his brothers and sisters without the possibility of being intercepted and hauled off to Enbarr. 

Sylvain was blessed, in a sense, but also cursed. His mother had gone into hiding with them. Her presence often brought Sylvain conflict. He loved her; she was his mother. In all his gold-and-grey tinted childhood memories, she was there. As he grew, she kept him safe and cared for him, taught him. For a long time, he responded to her love well. Then he’d started to see that she was a source of his misery, one of the reasons his older brother had hated him so much. Sylvain had begun to see how much she spoiled and smothered him and let her other child go lonely. When, finally, Sylvain realized how much more she treated him like a piece of jewelry than a child… he decided to distance himself emotionally. 

Five years ago, the two of them had had a much-needed talk. Forgiveness had been dealt and they saw eye-to-eye at last. 

But… all those years of frustration and feeling lost. 

Those times still weighed heavily on Sylvain. He didn’t understand why his mother was with him now while his friends’ families were beyond reach. 

Adjusting his hood, Sylvain turned into an alleyway. He hurried down the brick walkway feeling the rhythm of his steps on his soles. He headed towards the old inn, a place that no longer got business of its own, but served the Blue Lions well. The inn was located in a part of the city that was now mostly abandoned. People had moved away from the center of the city when illness became rampant. 

Rats crawled across cobblestone towards discarded, rotten food— intentionally spoiled by Cornelia’s men. Crates of black apples and green bread were enough to almost make one go mad… these things that could have helped so many, cruelly tossed from a palace that had too much. The spoilage attracted roaches and fleas too. The air around here felt miasmic. But the Blue Lions could deal with it if it meant getting some privacy in return. 

Sylvain approached the inn. A light was on in the window, a sign that the old man who ran the place was still there. He only got customers occasionally, but he kept things running as much as possible: all for the cover. 

Just as he was about to open the door, Sylvain felt movement to his left and spun. A knife was in his hand almost as if warped there. His reflexes had improved in these past five years. 

“Woah!” came a voice. “Hey, it’s just me!”

Syvlain’s shoulders relaxed.

“Alcander.”

The little boy chuckled. His freckles seemed to bounce as he showed his chipped front teeth. Sylvain would have been mortified to smile with a grin like that but, somehow, the look worked for the twelve-year-old. 

“You’re the last one back,” Alcander told him. “I was waiting.”

“Is Danae with you?”

Alcander nodded towards the shadows and Sylvain noticed a little girl, strawberry blonde like her brother. 

Sylvain shook his head. “You shouldn’t let her do things like this, Al. You know how your father feels.”

“Yeah… but I have to watch her! And I also want to help you guys.”

“We don’t need help from a little kid.”

The words came out harshly and Sylvain had meant them to. He liked Alcander. From the moment his father had decided to help them, the kid had done his best to learn from the Lions. He visited them often, asking for advice and providing them with information he’d heard from town. Even Felix couldn’t really get angry when Alcander showed up to ask for sword tips. The boy was just that genuine.

But Sylvain felt guilty. He knew he was going to get their young pseudo-apprentice into danger some day, if he wasn’t careful. Plus, there was seven-year-old Danae to think of. 

“Oh…” Alcander frowned. “I mean, I know that you don’t NEED me. You’re the Lions!”  
“SHHH!” hissed Sylvain.

Alcander twitched. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Here, let’s go inside. Your mother is already having a panic attack, you know.”

Sylvain placed a hand to his forehead and sight. “Of course.”

He entered the inn, Alcander at his side. By the register was the innkeeper, Pharis, who counted meager coins and kept a sharp lookout. He pursed his lips when he saw them.

“All right. That’s everyone. Let’s lock up… Al, where’s Danae?”

Alcander glanced around, shocked. “She was right…”

The door burst open and the girl came through, eyes wide. 

“Sorry!” she breathed.

“Dani!” snapped Alcander. “Keep up!”  
“Sorry!”  
“It’s not her fault!” Pharis scowled. “You’re the big brother. You’re responsible! How could you leave her out there like that?! The city is dangerous!”

Sylvain put a hand on Alcander’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Sir. Let me take some of the blame. I was talking with him.”

Pharis raised an eyebrow. “You have more to worry about than he does. Speaking of which, go see your mother and Ingrid before they pace holes in my floor. Annette and Felix too. Seems those two got into trouble tonight. Danae, stay here. I’m going to get you something hot to drink.”

_ Trouble? _ Sylvain tried to keep his expression aloft. They were back and that was all that mattered, but Sylvain couldn’t help but feel little rushes of panic when people mentioned that his friends had been in danger. 

Together, Sylvain and Alcander headed down into the cellar. Alcander groaned with frustration.

“Ugh! I hate how he treats Dani. He acts like she’s made of glass. I have my own life. I can’t be worried about every single thing she does. She’s so stupid sometimes too!”

Sylvain glanced down, frowning.

“I get how you feel. But come on, she’s seven. It’s not her fault. She’ll learn.”

Again, Alcander groaned. “I guess. But you don’t get what it’s like. You’re SO lucky you don’t have a sibling.”

Getting the sudden urge to turn his head away, Sylvain said,

“I… know what it’s like to have a sibling.”

“Wait. Really? How come you never talk about her? Er— him?” Then Alcander went quiet for a moment. “Oh. Are they dead?”

Wincing, Sylvain thought about how to explain things. Finally, he went with: “You could say that. It’s not something I like to discuss. Oh, and don’t ask my mother about it.”

Alcander nodded just as Sylvain turned back to look. 

“‘Kay. Swear.” 

“Good.”

They entered the wine cellar, a massive basement area with barren racks on every wall. All the wine had been sold long ago; the last bottles had gone for about a tenth of what they were really worth. 

Everyone in the cellar straightened up when Sylvain and Alcander appeared.

“Sylvain!”

Phoebe Gautier shot up from her stool. Her long orange hair, now greying at the roots, swayed in a wave. Her lip quivered. “You’re never back so late. I thought… the worst.”

Ingrid approached, her eyes solemn.

Sylvain still sometimes paused at the sight of her. She’d changed in recent years. The long hair she’d kept since childhood was mostly gone. That had been a decision she’d made with Mercedes. Once, around four years ago, they’d gotten wind of some rumor about Dimitri and had gone to investigate. Mercedes had suggested disguises and Ingrid had finished the thought by finding some worn tunics and trousers. They’d headed to a bar near the Rhodos Coast, pretending to be a pair of young boys. They hadn’t found any leads, but they’d kept their hair short. “It’s easier to manage,” said Ingrid simply. 

Letting his hood fall, Sylvain caught sight of himself in a mirror on the wall. The white patches in his own hair were a grave reminder that his internal clock was ticking faster than everyone else’s.

“I know,” he said. “I didn’t want to come back empty-handed.”

He showed them the loaf of bread.

“I’d rather have you than that,” Ingrid said. “You know they double patrols around this time of night.” 

Sylvain tossed the loaf to Ashe who caught and sliced it, putting a thin piece on each plate of supper. They had only mashed potatoes, chickpeas, and Airmid gobies.

_ The worst fish on earth _ , Sylvain thought bitterly. He’d considered them more pests than food before now. They tasted like pond mud. 

Phoebe hooked her arm into Sylvain’s and breathed, as if finally convinced he’d really come back safely. She’d even tried to stop him from going out this time.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Nobody can catch me. I’m too smart for them.”

Felix scoffed from the corner then raised the sword he was polishing, checking for smudges. Sylvain had never seen that sword before. “No, you’re well trained,” he corrected. “And I’ll be taking the credit for that.”

As annoyed as he was by the phrasing, Sylvain had to agree. Felix had helped him out a lot as he tried to get accustomed to fighting without a crest. Sylvain had been shocked by how patient his friend had been through it all too. In school, he gave Sylvain only a couple of chances to get a maneuver right before calling him hopeless and going to train alone. But after the Battle of Garreg Mach, he simply assessed Sylvain’s slip-ups before instructing again. While a part of Sylvain feared that Felix was pitying him, a part of him was glad that the gentle, unspoken side of their friendship had strength during these five years. 

“Pharis said you got into trouble though,” Sylvain said, balancing between smugness and concern. “You and Annette. Everything okay?”

Felix glanced towards Annette; only the top of her orange hair could be seen over the large tome she was reading in the corner. The two of them tended to go out together now which was surprising to Sylvain— since the Felix he’d known all his life had mostly been a lone wolf outside their friend group. 

“It’s fine,” said Felix, lowering his voice. “We knew what we were doing was risky, but the rewards were too good.” He indicated towards the chickpeas, new sword, and Annette’s newest tome. “They almost caught us. But, obviously, they didn’t.”

Sylvain nodded. “I’m not going to annoy you about it. But… like what Ingrid said. I care about you more than all that other stuff.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards vaguely. 

“All right,” said Ashe. “Supper time. Everyone, grab a plate. That means you too, Annette.”

In the corner, Annette didn’t stir from her reading. Her nose nearly touched a page of her tome.

“Hey! Annette!” snapped Felix. 

Annette winced and stared up. She frowned. “I… sorry… did I miss something?”

“No,” Ingrid told her. “It’s just time to eat.”

“Oh…” Annette rubbed her eyes.

“You should take more breaks, Annie,” said Mercedes, passing a plate to Lady Gautier. “You’re starting to seem a tad loopy.”

“Can’t you just heal me up?”

Mercedes shook her head. “White magic isn’t a replacement for sleep.”

“She’s right,” said Felix, setting his sword by the wall. “Besides, none of that studying is going to do you any good if you can’t think straight when you have to use it. That’s damn common sense.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re all pretty short-sighted. I don’t care if you want to go looking for a dead man, but don’t go about it so idiotically.” 

“Don’t say that,” said Ingrid. “Especially in front of…” 

Her eyes wandered to Alcantar. 

Felix shrugged. “Fine. But Dedue never came back. I’m not hopeful.”

“Maybe they’re together,” said Mercedes, her voice squeaking a bit. “They’re just trying to make their way to us.”

“Possibly. But we can’t just sit here, people making worse and worse decisions, as we wait.”

“I… think I agree…” Phoebe Gautier mumbled. “There’s nothing of value for us in this city. Nobody knows anything about His Highness and we have no hope of taking that snake Cornelia now. I haven’t heard from Lord Fraldarius or Gilbert in some time. But I believe that they’re hiding in Fraldarius territory. They still have many supporters there so maybe they’ve been able to… to continue to fight in secret.” 

“But if His Highness really is still out there, he’ll come here eventually, right?” said Annette, messing with her thumbs.

“No.” Felix’s narrow eyes turned cold and dark and ugly. Sleet. “He’d go to Enbarr. He doesn’t care about us. He cares about Edelgard. Killing her.” 

They all wanted to argue. Sylvain felt the words, the denial, building from his gut but before everything he wanted to say could even break past his teeth… his mother let out a raspy cough. 

Quickly, she went for a handkerchief in her skirt pocket and pressed it to her lips. The cloth darkened. 

“Lady Gautier, do you need water?” said Alcantar, hazel eyes wide. Then, “I— I’ll go get water!”

The boy dashed up the stairs madly.

“Mother.” Sylvain helped her sit. He tightened his jaw. These coughing fits weren’t new. Her health had begun deteriorating from the moment she’d witnessed her husband’s murder. She’d improved somewhat when reuniting with Sylvain, but the damage had been done. The trauma from Florizel Gautier’s death, Miklan’s betrayal, her abuse in Shambhala, and Sylvain’s kidnapping had chipped a chunk off her constitution. She could never rebuild that. The current state of Fhirdiad wasn’t helping. She sat in this dank cellar for days on end, breathing in stale air and hints of mildew. She almost never went out; she was too afraid. But even the outside offered her lungs nothing fresh. Their kingdom was filthy.

Phoebe Gautier was dying.

She sank back onto her chair. Her face paled and she used the edge of her handkerchief to wipe red off her lips. 

Alcantar returned with a mug of water and she took it with trembling hands, gulping. Mercedes knelt before Phoebe.

“May I?” she asked.

Phoebe smiled weakly. “You’re very kind, dear. But, I don’t think it will do much good. I’m just old.”

“You’re really not,” muttered Sylvain, wincing as soon as his words hit the air. She was fifty; if things had been different, she should have been fine and aging gracefully in her manor alongside her husband. Sylvain tried to imagine that timeline… If not for Miklan and Edelgard and the war, he himself would be graduated from the officer’s academy now. He’d be healthy too. But thinking about that version of events wasn’t helping anything. 

“Here!” Alcantar came bounding back into the cellar, a mug in his hands. He passed it to Phoebe who took a long drink and sighed.

“You’ve got to go to Lord Fraldarius,” she said at last. “I cannot help you like he can. I’ve always been weak but now, now I am useless.” 

“We should go together,” said Annette, frowning. “Maybe Felix is right. There’s no point to being in the capital. We’re not getting the information we thought we would. Besides, there are probably more resources and allies for us in Fraldarius.”

Sylvain saw looks of agreement in the eyes of his friends. But an odd dullness crept into his mother’s gaze; a grim thought had hooked into her. 

“Fine,” said Sylvain. “Truth be told, we’ve burdened Pharis too long anyway. He and the kids are in danger so long as they harbor us. But I wonder…” He pressed a hand to his mouth. “Could Claude be an option? Is there any reason we can’t work with the Golden Deer for now?”

“From what I’ve heard, Claude’s been even more cautious than usual these past years,” said Ashe. “He’s restricted travel into Leicester. And he doesn’t trust anyone other than the Deer to oversee border control. I’m not sure how he would react to us. But… I came across a rumor…”

They leaned in, curious at the way Ashe’s voice had dipped. 

“A rumor?” Ingrid urged him.

“Yeah. That… that Claude frequently sends small parties over to the ruins of Garreg Mach. Some of the villagers near there see soldiers prodding around and a couple have been identified as Alliance troops. They have to be under Claude’s orders, right?”

“The Alliance isn’t like Faerghus,” pointed out Mercedes. “Claude might be the head, but there’s still the body, the round table. Official soldiers could be from someone even less trustworthy like Count Gloucester. But… it would make sense wouldn’t it… that Claude would be interested in that area?”

Sylvain watched her for a moment until her point hit him.

“The professor?” he said. “Maybe Claude is hoping she’s still alive?”

“Claude is smarter than that,” grumbled Felix. “Everyone said she fell into the ravine. Even if she did survive, why has she been gone for five years? No, she’s dead.”

“Then what could he be looking for?” wondered Phoebe. Her eyebrows wove. “I disagree with you, Felix. I didn’t know Lord Claude long, but we spoke a bit five years ago when he was working with the Lions. He is very clever, but he’s put a lot of his faith into that woman. Perhaps he thinks Leicester is in desperate need of a miracle and is betting on her.”

“Claude? Bet?” Ingrid scoffed. “The Claude I remember would rather cheat than leave things to chance. Remember our first inter-house mock battle? He tried to poison Dimitri.”

“Oh! And almost got away with it!” said Mercedes, covering her mouth with a hand. “If not for Dedue…”

Sylvain couldn’t help it; he chuckled. The others followed suit. That bitter-sweet memory of their school days seemed so bright against the backdrop of the present. Dedue had noticed Claude tap some mushroom powder into Dimitri’s stew as they all ate. Sylvain still remembered Dedue taking off after Claude, yelling about dragging him to Rhea while Claude sprinted, crying out that Kupala Mushroom only knocked victims out. Dimitri himself had been angry at first, but amused in retrospect. “He certainly keeps me on my toes,” he’d said of Claude. “Maybe I can teach him a thing or two about honor and he can teach me about how to spot trickery.”

“I wonder what happened between them. After the battle,” said Annette, quietly closing one of her tomes. They’d all wondered the same thing. Claude and Dimitri had escaped together with the intention to speak to Reagent Rudus and… Sylvain didn’t quite know. Claude had returned to the Alliance and Dimitri had been taken by Cornelia. 

“It’s strange,” said Alcantar at last. Sylvain blinked; he’d forgotten that the boy was still there. “You all talk about the Archduke and Prince of Faerghus and they sound like… I dunno, normal people?”

“I wouldn’t say normal.” Felix crossed his arms. “But still people by loosest definition.” 

“Felix,” Ingrid warned. 

Sylvain shook his head. So much had changed, but not everything. The three of them still had a specific way of interacting. Though, proudly, Sylvain granted that he’d been far less of a nuisance to them lately. He’d curbed his womanizing habits. The desire wasn’t entirely gone but, after everything he went through five years ago… he wanted to move on from it. He wanted to be better, wiser, stronger than before. He wanted to prove to Miklan, his mother, and himself that he was a good person, one who cared for others. He didn’t need a Crest, and he didn’t need Gautier tradition. 

“Let’s sleep on it, shall we?” said Ingrid at last. “We need to appeal to Claude or Felix’s father for aid. Lord Fraldarius will certainly be friendly towards us. He’s less risky. But there’s perhaps more strategic value from convincing Claude to share information.” 

They all agreed. Sylvain, from the corner of his eye, noticed Alcantar frown deeply. 

_ I’m sorry _ , thought Sylvain.  _ You’ve really been like a little brother to me. But leaving is for the best.  _

Their fight needed to go on. 

*****

“Your Majesty, a report.”

Edelgard looked up from her desk as a messenger arrived. She glanced at Miklan and Hubert who sat in armchairs across from her before saying,

“Very well. I suppose I’ll take it now.”

Miklan rolled his shoulders. She’d been working since before dawn, waking up even before the birds. Locking herself in her office, she’d on plans, letters, requests, budgets— anything and everything needed to maintain an army. Only around lunchtime did she finally allow the two of them in to discuss business. Miklan commanded a large battalion of the Empire’s best physical footsoldiers while Hubert controlled nearly every mage in the army. The three of them worked well together and got so much done that Miklan almost didn’t mind the messenger bursting in so suddenly. 

“Right.” The messenger nodded eagerly. Miklan saw a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, one that could only mean he had something unusual to share. “There was a report of some robberies in Fhirdiad. People have been pick-pocketing Imperial soldiers and skulking at night, breaking curfew. We finally got descriptions and they match some of the Blue Lions you put on our priority list.”

Edelgard placed her pen on her desk.

“Are they in custody? What happened? Who are they?”

Miklan felt as energized as she did. For five years, they’d searched for any sign of the Blue Lions and found nothing but trailing dust and afterimages. Near misses. But Miklan knew how important apprehending them would be for the war efforts. Taking the Blue Lions would finally quell the resistance in Faerghus, and Adrestia could potentially gain what they needed to take Leicester. It could end this war. 

“Ah. A young man and lady.” The messenger fumbled for his pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment which he read from. “Felix Fraldarius and Annette Dominic. The witness descriptions were almost perfect matches. They roughed up our men then fled with blades, tomes, and food. We are currently unsure of their whereabouts.”

“You locked down Fhirdiad, didn’t you?!” demanded Miklan. He had to stop himself from standing. Even after five years… just hearing about Felix got to him. His humiliating loss at the young Fraldarius’s hands still squeezed his guts into a knot even now, five years later. Miklan wanted to flay him alive. 

Edelgard laced her fingers. At last, she said, “Miklan. Look into this for me. If you can find them, that would be excellent for our cause. Especially after… failing with Dimitri.” Her tone soured. 

“Cornelia is to blame for that.” Hubert’s tone was frigid. “She wanted an elaborate death for him. If not for her circus of an execution, he’d be gone. Not a symbol of hope.”

“I never wanted to keep him around for so long,” Edelgard agreed. “I found no pleasure in torturing him. Her whole idea to break him and publicly behead him was unnecessary. No matter how he died, we would have gotten what we needed.” 

“At least his vassal was killed… probably,” said Miklan. He rubbed his chin which had some stubble on it— Like Edelgard and Hubert, he’d adopted a new style in the past few years. He didn’t look as regal as either of them, but he’d cut his mottled hair and wore Adrestian clothing, things like that. “The report said he was wounded and lost in Ailell. It’s hard to survive that place on your best day. It’s impossible when you’re that injured.”

“I dislike not seeing a corpse,” muttered Edelgard. “It leaves too much unknown. I feel the same about Professor Byleth. I can’t help but wonder if she’s really dead.” She unlaced her fingers. “But, back to the matter at hand. If we can seize the Lions then maybe we can squash some of the hope Dimitri’s escape gave Faerghus. This is important.”

Miklan nodded and flexed his fingers. “Would you like them dead or alive?”

Edelgard considered that. Her eyes rose gently to him and lingered. 

“I leave that up to you,” she said at last. 

Her tone bothered Miklan a bit, like she foresaw something that he did not. He knew that killing the Lions would be the safest option but… 

Sylvain.

_ Does she think I can’t do it? _ Miklan wondered. He grit his teeth. He’d come to terms with the fact that his relationship with Sylvain was complicated. They were brothers. Culture, tradition, and fate said that meant they should love each other. But— in the same breath— culture and tradition and fate all made love impossible as well. It was a big paradox. Miklan had gone from caring for his little brother, back when they were small and the rules of the world hadn’t hit them yet, to loathing him and his Crest— wanting him dead. Then… after taking everything from Sylvain, Miklan had felt sorry for him. Now, after being insulted and scorned, Miklan wasn’t sure how he felt. He tried to become indifferent, the way he thought Sylvain was… but it wasn’t in his nature. Miklan always ended up letting his emotions and grudges get the best of him. 

“Fine,” Miklan told Edelgard. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I suppose it depends on if they surrender.”

Edelgard nodded. “The Empire will do whatever it must to succeed. However, we shouldn’t assassinate our own reputation unnecessarily. The public would not look on us favorably if we killed people who didn’t fight back.”

“Shall I help arrange the investigation?” asked Hubert. 

“No. Stay. We are not done here. Miklan can manage.”

With a short nod, Miklan left the office.

_ Onward then,  _ he thought.  _ To Fhirdiad. _

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 will be out soon. I wrote it almost the same time as the prologue.


End file.
